Zophiel - LightNovelsOnl.com
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Soft is thy form--amid the unpent air, Pay rosy exercise her just demands: Tho' heaven thy lone hours woo Earth still demands her due; Gay health to guard e'en genius' palace stands-- And when she takes her flight--e'en genius, must despair.
Nor those alone doomed to incarnate birth Painting, death-baffler, is it thine to save!
The heavenly shapes that flit, When the entranced fit, Is on, and the charmed soul forgets its earth, Thou bidst to earthly eyes their sky-dipt vestments wave.
The radiant visions Fancy's wand uprears When Poesy around has spread her spell, Like summer flowrets dies Refresh the enchanted skies, Where, soft as air, and lovelier for her fears, Bright in her golden robes flies fair-haired Florimell. [FN#24]
[FN#24] The flight of Florimell, from a scene in Spencer's Faery Queen, is an exquisite little picture by Allston, in the possession of a private gentleman.
The miracles, in holy record kept, Done--ere one cheering ray of distant light Thro' death's dark portals shown, At thy command alone, Still, still--reacted meet--the astonished sight, Tho' rolling ages o'er the scene have swept.
In this far distant land, which the great deep Perchance embosomed, when that dust was rife, The pale unconscious dead On the strown relics laid Of old Elisha, in his pa.s.sing sleep, Still, at the hallowed touch, starts back to warmth and life. [FN#25]
[FN#25] Every one must recollect the sublime picture here alluded to.
Sweet, when the soul is weary of the ills That stern reality presents, to dwell On beauteous forms: they smooth The ruffled sense, and sooth The heart with soft perfection; till a spell Blends with its troublous pulse, and all its achings stills.
And who can look nor own the pencil's power Where tender Ariadne, happy yet, [FN#26]
Lies in a dream of bliss?
The last half-pitying kiss, By falsehood given, her sleeping lip has met-- That still seems hovering there like Zephyr o'er a flower.
[FN#26] Vanderlyn's Ariadne.
The dawn breaks slowly o'er the distant main, To come no more her ingrate hero flies; While thoughts confiding speak Upon her mantling cheek-- Illusion chains the sense--in lowest sighs Whispering--we fear to see her wake to pain.
But whither wandering? whatsoe'er has gained Long conning book and heart the white-haired sage; Cause and remote effect In living semblance dect, The truths divine of many a moral page Thy hand, harmonious Peale, hath at a glance explained.
STANZAS.
To meet a friends.h.i.+p such as mine Such feelings must thy heart refine As seldom mortal mind gives birth, 'Tis love, without a stain of earth, _Fratello del mio cor._
Tho' friends.h.i.+p be its earthly name All pure, from highest heaven, it came 'Tis never felt for more than one, And scorns to dwell with Venus' son _Fratello del mio cor._
Him let it view not, or it flies Like tender hues of morning-skies, Or morn's sweet flower, of purple glow.
When sunny beams too ardent grow _Fratello del mio cor._
It's food is looks, its nectar, sighs, Its couch the lip, its throne the eyes The soul its breath; and so possest, Heaven's raptures reign in mortal breast.
_Fratello del mio cor._
ON THE DEATH OF A LADY.
Thy home seemed not of earth--so blest-- But there has fall'n a shaft of fate-- The dove is stricken; and the nest She warmed and cheered is desolate.
But fairest not for thee, we mourn: Blest from thy birth, thou still art so-- The tear must dew thine early urn For him whom thou hast taught to know
The zest of joys--complete, as knows Thy vital flame, the pang that tost And changed thee past, where now it glows-- Knowing, yet feeling all is lost.
There is a flower of tender white And, on its spotless bosom, play The moon's soft beams, one lovely night; But when appears the morning ray
'Tis shut and withered--even now Around your lime I see it wave; [FN#27]
'Tis pure, and fresh, and fair, as thou-- And sinks in beauty to its grave.
[FN#27] The white convolvulus; it blossoms just after sun-set, and is seen in great abundance entwining the lime-hedges, about the plantations of Cuba.
